A Painting A Day: Days 40-58

After
a week in the new neighborhood, I still adjusting. Adjusting to the
myriad of races and religions, churches lining the block: a Meninite
Hatian church around the corner; a Spanish-speaking church literally
next door filling our Sundays with off-key singing and shouts to Jesus; a
monolithic stone church a block away with boarded up stained glass
windows, inhabited by an orange tabby (stripped, does it resemble
St.John the Divine?). Painfully, I face my notions of race, racism and
cultural biases. Growing up in San Francisco, I attended countless
school meetings and clubs about racial diversity, but clutch my purse
while walking through the Tenderloin district. This hyper-liberalism
created a schism in my mind. I believe I'm fine until I encounter fear
walking through my new neighborhood. Granted, it's not as sharp as
before, but it's there and it bothers me. I realize I want to be part of
this community, even though I am in the racial minority. People here
are just like me, with similar preoccupations, joys and sadness. Why are
we born looking one way and not the another?

With
these questions in mind, I head home late one night in the subway. A
few drunk and rowdy youths crowd the subway. They light cigarettes and
take off shirts. Passengers curl lips and move away. I smile: they are
funny! "What are we doing on this f*ing subway?" one yells. Stuck in a
subway, drunk and not knowing how to get off. One boy is asleep and a
friend gives a good smack to wake him up. His hat falls off his head and
I replace it. I wonder: if these boys were white, wearing nice clothes,
how would this be different?

Walking
home from the subway, I feel an intense desire to belong here, to be a
part of this community. Will they accept me? I encounter another group
of youths walking in my direction. They have long braids and amazing
curls. Any girl would be jealous of their waves. One comes up to me:
"How are you doing tonight?" I answer: "Tired and happy." We walk a
little ways and he makes note that I am not afraid. I bring up the
incident on the train and laugh. It was funny, not scary. I like this
neighborhood: people up at all hours, the kids running around, playing
in water pouring from hydrants on hot days. "Yes," he continues. "I want
to make sure people are welcome in my community. Don't be scared
because my face looks like this and his face looks like that. This is a
great neighborhood. I want you to feel at home." We exchange names and I
leave, happy and grateful. It's as if these kids heard my silent
question.

Day 41: August 13, 2012

"Matt and Tiggs"

Matt
and his parents arrive the next night. After a day of moving, we pass
out. Due to a recent injury, Matt has to sleep in a chair. I place
Tigger beside him for company.

Day 42: August 14, 2012

"Angels on DeKalb Avenue"

Matt's
parents arrived around 4am on Sunday morning. I couldn't sleep all
night, waiting for them to arrive. The all-night party across the street
made it even harder to relax. Curious, I peer over the balcony to see a
bouncer let people in and out of the restaurant that I've never seen
anyone eat in. Later we find out that it is a space people rent for
parties. When Matt's parents first arrive, they sleep in the truck,
scared that someone will steal the belongings. "Who would want this
stuff?" I ask angrily. This is only one night after my encounter with
the young men nearby. But to people unfamiliar with the city, everything
must seem dangerous. Around 6am, we wake up. The bouncer offers to park
the truck at a better angle so the u-haul doesn't stick out. For a
second, fear shoots through me: what if he drives away? But he doesn't.
After several tries, he gets it in. We talk: he is a bouncer at a club
in Brooklyn, we must stop by. And did you know that in New York, clubs
go until 1 in the afternoon? He was also a bike messenger in San Francisco. Now that's impressive.

We
open the trailer to boxes and furniture stacked to the ceiling. I wish
that Matt was able-bodied but all he can do is watch from the balcony.
How frustrating that must be for him. A group of young men stand by the
club. They watch us fumble with boxes for a while then one approaches
Matt's mom: "Do you need help?" Matt's mom says yes but she can't pay
them. "You don't need to pay us!" he answers, and he and his friends get
to work. They unload the trailer box by box and hoist the queen-sized
mattress above their heads. Everything is in front of the building. I
wonder: do we have to carry it up all those stairs? No! They just don't
know where to go! Up two flights of stairs. We are all sweaty and worn
out after the multiple trips. They always offer to carry Matt's mom's
boxes. The boys egg each other on. "This one's not heavy enough!" one
notes, and stacks more boxes on his load. One of their big friends is
hiding in the trailer. We tease him. We laugh and laugh, even when a
sleepy neighbor complains. At the end of the long-haul, we drink water.
We exchange information. I'd like to thank them somehow. So this
watercolor is a start.

Thank
you, Oauriel, Jose, Argeny and I forget your friend and the bouncer's
name. Please remind me! You changed Matt's parents, who had the idea
that all New Yorkers were rude. You changed all of us. Would people in
Oxford, Ohio help strangers move at 6 in the morning? Or San Francisco?
For no pay?? For the next few days we are thunderstruck: what are the
odds that an all-night party is going on the night of our move, and five
able bodied, helpful gents are standing around willing to help move a
truck-load of boxes up two flights of stairs? In the words of Matt's
mom: "If you don't believe in God, this will make you believe."

An
interesting image in Ajit Mookerjee's "Yoga Art," The big guy, whom I
suspect is the yogi, reminds me of Ram Dass' Maharaji. Also a big yogi,
his only possession was a blanket. This big guy only wears a thin red
undergarment. Funny how we associate India with skeletal yogis in the
mountains. Some of these guys are huge! And they never eat! I am looking
forward to the reversal of the impossible standards placed upon men and
women to have the body of a ten-year-old boy. Be who you are! Big or
small. Take care of your body and love it.

Day 45: August 17, 2012

"Diagram of expanding and enclosing functions of time cycles"

Rajasthan, c. 17th century, Gouache on paper

from Ajit Mookerjee's "Yoga Art"

Another
interesting image from Mookerjee's "Yoga Art." According to the book:
"time acts on space and incorporates space into itself. The two together
constitute a single progression in which space represents a momentary
section of the flow which is endowed with depth and cohesion by time.
The three verticals end in tridents, emblems of Shiva, who is called
Mahakala." (Mookerjee, Ajit, "Yoga Art," New York Graphic Society, 1975,
pp.125)

The
faces are memories of the men outside of Home Depot waiting for someone
to pick them up for a job. These same men wait in Graton, California,
Santa Fe, New Mexico and wherever they can find jobs without work
permits. As I approach, they crowd around, as if to swallow me. Am I
looking to hire them? No, I want to know why they are here. They explain
that people shopping at Home Depot often look for help installing
things in their homes. So they wait for work. One lady, like me, hooked
them up with work at her office. Unfortunately, I just started my job
and they seem to have more than enough help, so there is nothing I can
do. But I will pray for them and we exchange names and cards. "Ariel,
like the angel?" one asks. I can't believe he knows that. His name is
Pablo. I tell them I hope that I won't see them there again (as
in, they will have work). And if I do hear of someone looking for help
with construction, I know where to look.

Day 46: August 18, 2012

"Diagram for use in astronomical computation"

Rajasthan, c. 18th century, Gouache on paper

From Ajit Mookerjee's "Yoga Art"

"The interpenetrating triangles and rectangles symbolize the interrelation of time and space. Such a diagram can be used as a yantra a focus for meditation."

On
the 21st, Matt and I take a cab down to Coney Island to sign up for
Access-A-Ride services, a mini-bus that shuttles handicapped people
around the city. The driver on the way is a polite and curious lady,
asking questions about Matt and his story. The Access-A-Ride lobby is
pretty grim. Several elderly people, a gentleman with a cast on his leg
and a huge, well-decorated lady in a black motorized chair accompanied
by a young girl in a neon red wig are our companions. This lady is
anything but courteous when entering the building. I watched as she
yells at another handicapped lady to get out of the way as she exited
the elevator. She then careens her huge motorized wheelchair around the
waiting room until she is properly situated. I think to myself: Hey lady, everyone's handicapped here. There is no trump card.

This past week of attending social services meetings, waiting in line and more lines and more lines until Matt secured the services he needs has been beyond exhausting. A phrase repeas itself in my mind: Why would anyone choose to do this? But
there are many people who do choose this lifestyle. Sure it takes days
to get social services, but then you don't have to work! Then, how can I
judge someone based on appearance. There are many physical jobs that
Matt cannot do, which is why he is taking steps to become a teacher. So
when we see a room full of able bodied people, it is easy to judge. I
wonder what people's stories really are. How much is this costing the government to pay for all this, all these workers, all these claims, all these stories.

On
the way back, we learn that the gentleman with the cast injured himself
as a bike messenger on a bridge when his brakes failed. He fractured
his fibula. I cannot imagine the pain. The taxi driver is curious to
hear his story, but as soon as the injured gentleman hops out, only a
few blocks from our home, the driver addresses us in the back seat,
asking why we couldn't have found a better neighborhood to live in.
Interesting how he waits until the black man had left the car to ask
this pointed question.

Day 49: August 21, 2012

"Self Portrait with Swollen Eye"

watercolor on paper 5.5" x 5.5"

A
few days ago, my eye and neck blew up. Now I believe it's from an IKEA
pillow but for a while I accredit the swelling and itching to an old
mango allergy (I've been eating them lately). As luck should have it,
the eye swelling coincides with an appointment at the DMV to secure my
New York State ID. Smile for the camera! What a great way to banish
self-consciousness. I remember a teenage summer when I contracted poison
oak so badly that I resembled the elephant man. We take a family
vacation to Monterey where I spend evenings soaking in oatmeal baths.
The crippling shame and embarrassment I feel nearly prevents me from
visiting the aquarium and Cannery Row. But my family insists, so I go.
As we ride through the town on a four-person bike, the wind hits my face
and I forget about my condition. I feel happy. A curious glance from a
passerby reminds me of my hideousness and I feel briefly like crying.
But my family loves me and they don't care what I look like. Same with
my New York State ID. It will be with me for the next five years.

Day 50: August 22nd, 2012

"Matthew's Dreams"

watercolor on paper 5.5" x 5.5"

This is Matt talking to my mom. And these are his dreams.

Day 51: August 23rd, 2012

Transcription of "Sulla Terraza" by Peter Ruta (1957)

watercolor on paper 5.5" x 5.5"

Today I met Peter Ruta and his wife, Suzanne Ruta. Peter has been painting for as long as I have been alive, my dadhas
been alive, and then some. Born in Germany in 1918, relocated to Italy
and then immigrated to the United States in 1936, Ruta studied at the
Art Students League and in Mexico with the famous mural artists. In
World War II, he was wounded at the retaking of Bataan while serving in
the Pacific Theater US infantry. A Fulbright Grant landed him in Italy
after the war, where he secured his degree at the Venice Accademia in
1948. Since then, Peter has lived in Italy and New York, while painting
in New Mexico, France, Spain, Mexico and New England. He was painting
views of Manhattan until August 2001 at the World Trade Center, when a
fortuitous trip took him out of the city. Recently, he has been working
on a series of "indoor landscapes" in his studio at Westbeth, New York
City. I have enjoyed getting to know Peter and his wife Suzanne and hope
spend more time with them in the future. Visit Peter's website
to see his work and learn about his life. This watercolor is a
transcription of one of his paintings from 1950's Italy. While painting,
I felt as if I knew exactly where each line would go. It was bizarre to
feel so in sync with a work created so long ago.

Peter's wife Suzanne is an author who recently published To Algeria With Love, which I hope to read. She will be giving a reading at Westbeth on October 16, 2012 at 7pm.

This October, Peter showing a selection of his work at the Westbeth Gallery from October 6-21.

Today
I am angry with someone. I am royally pissed and here I depict my
anger, transforming myself into the Hindu goddess Kali, destroying this
person with a devilish grin. Using Photoshop, I duplicate the image to
compound my fury. Mind you, in a past life or whatever, I could have
done the same thing to this person. So this incident could be a
balancing of karma. So for this I say thank you. Now I can tell you, with love, to shove off.

Tonight
I watch Joseph Campbell lecture on the "Mythos" DVD series. He speaks
about Demeter and Persephone, the death and rebirth of spring and the
pre-Christian references to resurrection. I love this image of whom I
believe is Demeter (or could be Persephone) being lifted from the
underworld by her female companions, much in the way I am lifted from
darkness by wonderful friends.

Day 55: August 27

"Dionysus"

watercolor on paper 7.5" x 6"

Continuing
to watch Joseph Campbell: Dionysus and the mystery cults of ancient
Greece. The connection between Dionysian worship of grape (wine) and
wheat directly correlates with modern practices of mass ("blood and body
of Christ").

Day 56: August 28

"Door Guardian"

watercolor on paper 7.5" x 6"

An
image used in Joseph Campbell's "Mythos." This female figure holds a
column that supports a door. Doesn't it feel as if she has the weight of
the world on her head? Yet she smiles.